In the Deep
by FallenNephilim
Summary: Castiel used to tell people of the angels he spoke to. But that's changed, and now the stories have stopped because Cas has learned how to blend in. Dean/Castiel
1. The Voice

Castiel used to tell people of the angels he spoke to.

He used to tell his parents and friends, and heck even people he didn't know, and at first they all thought it was just the stories of a child with an out-of-control imagination. And it was harmless, so they let it be and listened to his tales of the angels Gabriel and Michael and their brothers and sisters in Heaven, all the while secretly wondering how he knew their names when they'd never been spoken of before.

They were not religious people; they didn't even have a Bible in the house, so how did he know of them? But in the end they let it be. After all, it was just the rambling imagination of a child.

But then Castiel started to insist, started to get angry, started to tell them that they were real, that angels really did speak to him, so they threatened him with pills unless stories stopped.

And stop they did, because Castiel has learned to blend in now.

X X X

_**Years Later . . .**_

When he was alone, Castiel would think.

Years of studying hard in school, throwing himself into his courses at University, and practically immersing himself in work had paid off. He'd acquired his dream job as a doctor at his local hospital, through vicious trial and error.

His parents were proud.

But in those moments at night when he returned to his apartment, empty save for him, and sat down on the couch in his living room he would think. And as he thought he reflected on many things, but always – without fail – his thoughts would drift back to the voices in his head; the angels that still continued to whisper to him, no matter what he did.

Castiel held himself back too much, and he knew it. He pushed himself down all the time, bottling all his emotions and thoughts and opinions up and hiding them from the rest of the world because he was too afraid - far too afraid - of what others would think. Afraid of how they would look at him; that condescending glare, like he was insane.

Because only the insane had voices in their head, right?

The pressure from all he'd kept bottled inside was dizzying, and it made him feel sick, but he had no idea of how to let it out, and so it stayed inside. Forever locked behind a steel door that no one could open. Not even him, because he'd forgotten how.

And so his thoughts ended there, as they always did, because he knew it was a lost cause. No one would ever accepted him if he of the angels that whispered to him, or of the strange pull in his heart that spoke of something _more_ . . . like a greater destiny, perhaps.

People would laugh if he told them that.

It wasn't even up for consideration. He would keep those feelings and thoughts inside, like he always did. He'd hide himself away from the world, afraid of being labeled as a freak and a psychopath. Because he wasn't, he was just Castiel.

Just Castiel.

He never spoke his thoughts anymore, not to his parents, not to those at work, not to anyone. He kept it all secret. He never stood up for himself, he never started fights; ever the peace-maker and the mediator, gullible and kind, and yet used at every turn because people saw him as an easy target. And they took the trust he so willingly offered and shattered it.

Castiel learned not to trust anyone anymore.

Nearly two years after Castiel had started working at the hospital, he was assigned an intern. A man just a year or two younger than him, with dark, cropped hair and bright green eyes and a quirky, self-confident smile.

He called himself Dean.

Dean Winchester.

And he was kind, and funny, and perhaps he had a bit too much of a fondness for jokes and pranks, but Castiel found himself relaxing around him a lot more than he'd ever relaxed around anyone. And he suddenly began hoping that maybe, maybe it would be different this time. Maybe he could offer Dean his trust and not have it shattered like it had been before.

_Just maybe._

X X X

"Hey, Castiel!"

Castiel turned, smiling softly as he saw Dean running down the hall toward him. "Hello, Dean."

Dean grinned, "Listen, I've got a new nickname for you. I want you to tell me what you think, okay?"

Castiel's eyes widened, "A nickname?"

Dean nodded, "I was thinking 'Cas', just a shortened form of your name." He smiled, "Well?"

Castiel nodded, resisting the urge to bite his lip, "Yeah . . . yeah, I like it."

_No one's ever called me that before._

"Alright then, Cas, guess what? I hear they have pie down in the cafeteria. Pie, dude. _Pie._ They never have pie. Do you want to go smuggle some out the back with me?"

Castiel felt Dean's own crooked smile creeping onto his face and he lowered his head, raising a hand to cover it. It had always been a slight insecurity of his; smiling, that is, because it always seemed awkward and he felt the need to hide it.

"Cas, don't do that." Dean said suddenly.

"Do what?" Castiel looked up at him, eyes wide. Had he done something wrong?

"Don't hide your smile like that; you look nice when you smile."

Castiel swallowed past the tightness in his throat, "Oh, th-thank you."

Dean nodded, his own smile returning, and seemed about to say something else when a nurse suddenly ran up to him and began babbling away about some patient that Dean had administered prescription drugs to the day before. Castiel listened in quietly, allowing himself a soft smile as he heard how well Dean had done, and pretended not to hear when the nurse asked Dean out to go with her and a few others for a drink later that evening, because it shouldn't bother him, but his smile faltered nonetheless.

Castiel shoved his hands into the pockets of his white coat and pretended it didn't hurt when Dean accepted the invitation.

He'd never been invited places like that. Even now when he'd learned how to blend in, he still didn't exactly _fit_ in, and people could always tell the difference. So to everyone else Castiel was just the strange, quiet doctor; kind, but silent, and a bit unnerving if you stared into his violent blue eyes for too long.

No one ever just came up and asked him to go out for a drink.

"Hey, Cas. Why don't you come with us?"

Castiel started out of his thoughts to see Dean staring at him expectantly, "I'm sorry?"

"Well, my friend Meg and I were going to go get a drink with a few other guys. Do you want to come?"

Castiel pretended not to notice the slight look of panic that crossed over Nurse Meg's face when Dean presented the invitation; instead he just focused on the smile Dean was offering him, and the warmth it brought when Castiel realized that Dean was going out of his way, just for him.

"Yeah, I'd love to."

The night didn't turn out at all like he expected it to, though.

Dean came by Castiel's apartment so they could go to the bar together – since Castiel didn't know where it was, though apparently it was just a few blocks away, within walking distance – and they set off, Dean chattering away, obviously excited that Castiel was going with them.

"You seem a bit on edge, Cas."

Castiel started slightly, still not used to the nickname, "Well, I don't really do this often."

Dean smiled. "Don't worry," he put a hand on Castiel's shoulder, "Just stick by me and everything will be alright."

Castiel offered him a slight smile, but when Dean turned away his smile fell as he suddenly realized something. The angels had been silent for the last few minutes, which was very uncharacteristic of them. Usually they never left him alone, just continued to whisper and whisper and whisper.

It would probably drive most people mad, but Castiel had heard their whispers in his head since he could remember. They were normally a comfort to him, actually, and now without their whispers in the background, everything felt silent and suffocating.

_He is the instigator._

Castiel blinked, eyes widening as the whispers suddenly started up again, and frowned. What did that mean? The instigator? Who were they talking about?

Then again, the angels were always spouting this and that, and Castiel would often catch snippets of conversation that didn't make any sense, so that probably had nothing to do with him. Instead, he just brushed it off and reminded himself that he was going to have a good time that night with Dean and the rest of his co-workers from the hospital.

"Cas? Hello?" Dean waved a hand in front of his face, startling him out of his thoughts. "Earth to Cas?"

"Oh," Castiel started, "Sorry, I was – uh, lost in my thoughts."

Dean smiled. "No problem, I just wanted to tell you that we're there."

Sure enough, Castiel looked up to see the large neon lights of a sign proclaiming the name of the bar to be _The Roadhouse_. Interesting name; nonetheless, it looked pretty welcoming and not at all shady, so Castiel followed Dean inside, relaxing a bit as he saw Dean wave at the bartender – a pretty girl with auburn hair – and saunter over to where the rest of their co-workers from the hospital were sitting.

"Hey, guys." Dean said, getting their attention, "This is my friend. I'm sure you all know him?"

"Oh, yeah," one guy, who Castiel remembered was a nurse named John, "Doctor, I've seen you around the hospital."

Castiel smiled hesitantly. "Yes, hello, I'm Castiel Novak," he said, introducing himself to those at the table who might not know him.

Dean grinned and clamped him on the shoulder, "Just call him Cas," he said, offering Castiel a chair and taking the one next to him on the left. "And I'm Dean Winchester."

The nurse, who'd invited Dean before, Meg, smiled at him, batting her eyelashes. "Well, you both already know me. So I'll let the others introduce themselves." She pointed at the others at the table intermittently and they all named off, as if on a roll call, until they'd gone all the way around and back to Castiel.

_I doubt all be able to remember all their names,_ Castiel mourned inwardly. He'd never been good with names.

But, they didn't seem to use their names often anyway. Dean was really the only one that said his name – Cas – and Meg kept calling for Dean, trying to get him to fixate his attention on her, because she was obviously attracted to him. It was strange, though. Castiel was a bit inept when it came to socializing, but even he could see that Dean wasn't interested in Meg's continued advances. So why did she keep trying? Was she really that desperate?

_Five more days._

Castiel started, jerking suddenly and nearly knocking his drink over. The angels, whose voices had faded to a whisper in the background as they normally did, had suddenly raised their volume, all but shouting inside his head.

"Cas? What's wrong?" Dean's voice startled him out of his musings.

Castiel grimaced and gave the others around the table, who were staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and worry, a sheepish look. "S-sorry, just a headache."

Everyone relaxed, resuming their conversations, but Castiel couldn't get the words the angels had said out of his mind. Five more days – what did that mean? Five more days until what? Obviously it was important; the angels' voices had never exceeded whispers before, but why here? Why now?

What did it _mean?_

So lost in his thoughts was he, that Castiel didn't feel Dean staring at him, a strange look in his green eyes. And, when Castiel finally came out of whatever thought process he'd been lost in, Dean had looked away, and the moment was gone.

"Hey, Cas," one of the others around the table, a nurse whose name was Jo, asked, her dark eyes fixing on Castiel, "You haven't said much, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Castiel said, summing up as much conviction in his tone as he could, "Like I said, just a headache."

He had to admit, though, he was a bit flattered that Jo had remembered Dean's nickname, and that she had bothered to ask.

People normally didn't bother to ask.

"What does it matter?" Meg said suddenly, waving her hand flippantly, "He's been spacing out the whole time, he obviously doesn't want to be here."

Castiel blinked, "That's not true. I've been listening, I just didn't really have anything to add."

Meg shrugged, "Whatever."

Castiel realized suddenly, from the look she was giving him, that she didn't like him for some reason. But why? They didn't even know each other, outside of when they'd met just hours before. Maybe she was like so many others, though, who thought his presence was _unsettling_ and shied away from it. It definitely wouldn't be the first time that had happened to him.

Meg suddenly leaned closer to him, whispering so only he could hear.

_"Freak."_

Castiel stiffened, his eyes widening and his mouth pressing into a hard, thin line as memories washed over him. Memories of a lonely childhood filled with books and imaginary friends, bullies who slammed him against lockers and called him freak when his back was turned, prayers to the angels that whispered to him to send him a friend – just _one_ friend, _please._

But his prayers were never answered.

He felt his throat tighten and he stood suddenly, ignoring the evil smirk Meg threw his way.

"Cas?" Dean looked up at him, "You okay?"

"Bathroom," Castiel croaked, taking his leave and sliding through the crowd as he headed for the bathroom marked clearly with the large 'MENS' sign on the outside. He was doing now what he did best, even though it made him feel like a coward.

Sometimes there was nothing he could do but run.

He stumbled into the bathroom, glad when he saw it was empty besides him, and leaned against one of the sinks, taking deep breaths to calm himself down as he stared into the mirror, noting the way his blue eyes shined in the light.

_Damn it . . ._

Why did people scorn him and shun him wherever he went? Why was he so different from every other person who preferred to listen rather than speak? Was silence such a big deal? He rather liked not talking; it let him pay attention to everything going on around him.

So why?

_Freak . . ._

He knew he didn't belong there. He never belonged there.

So again, like a coward, he tucked tail and fled, unable to even consider the thought of going back to the table and sitting down next to Meg and pretending everything was okay. He wrapped his trench coat tighter around himself and slid out the bar, and no one noticed him go – no one ever noticed him go.

He ran. Back to his apartment, back to where it was safe and quiet and just him and the angels in his head. Back to where he could be himself without having to worry about the judgement others threw over him.

Back home.

And when he got there, it was all he could do to not flop down on his couch and sob into the pillows as the memories of his childhood overtook him. Instead he composed himself, got a cup of tea, and settled down in front of the television.

Peace washed over him, and as he slipped into the warmth and relaxation of sleep, he realized that this was where he felt most comfortable. Here, where he could be himself. In this place he called home.

And in his dreams he cried the silent tears of a lonely little boy whose prayers still remained unanswered.


	2. The Calling

A sudden knock woke him.

Castiel jerked awake, blinking as he realized the TV was still on, and craned his head to look at the time on the clock above the fireplace to his right. It was nearly two in the morning. Who visited at two in the morning?

Groaning, Castiel got to his feet, noticing that he'd fallen asleep still wearing the jeans and shirt he'd worn to the bar – though he'd at least managed to take his coat off – and disregarded it as unimportant as he stumbled over to open the door. But imagine his surprise when the door swung open to reveal none other than Dean Winchester on the other side.

"Dean . . .?" Castiel blinked again, trying to make sure he was actually awake and not dreaming.

Dean looked relieved. "Oh, Cas. You're alright. I was freaking out, man." He pushed past Castiel and into the apartment, "Look, I started panicking, okay? When you didn't come back from the restroom for a while I went to look for you, but you weren't there, and no one had seen you. The only reason I didn't start going into major freak-out mode was because one of the guys who worked there – Ash – saw you slip out the door when no one else was looking, and so I came here, hoping and praying – me, _praying_ – that you were okay, and damn it, Cas, don't ever do that to me again."

Castiel stared at him, "I – I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean paused, "You look confused."

"W-well, I mean, I'm just . . . I didn't expect you to worry like that, I'm sorry."

Dean's brow furrowed, "You're apologizing for making me worry?"

"Yes, I didn't mean to, honestly."

"Cas, it's no big deal, I just . . . I was afraid something had happened to you." Dean stepped forward, "Why did you leave so suddenly?"

Castiel swallowed hard and looked away. "It's nothing."

"Yeah, right. Look, dude, sorry to tell you, but you're a horrible liar. Now seriously, what happened?"

Castiel hunched his shoulders, feeling very small all of a sudden, "Meg." He said finally.

"What?"

"That nurse, Meg. She . . . she called me something, and it dredged up bad memories, and I just . . . I didn't feel like sitting back down at the table with her and pretending everything was okay."

Dean's eyes had gotten steadily narrower as Castiel had talked. "What did she say? Cas, what did she call you?"

Castiel took a step back, a bit unnerved by the weight in Dean's tone. "I – I, um . . . she called me a freak."

Dean froze.

"I know, it doesn't sound like much, but that's what people always called me when I was a kid, even my parents, and I thought I'd gotten past that. So, for her to bring it up again, and so suddenly, was sort of staggering. But it's really not a big deal, I'm okay."

"Cas," Dean said, cutting off his rambling, "Your parents called you a freak when you were a kid?"

Castiel shrugged, and nodded, pretending like it didn't bother him.

"Why?"

"I-I . . . I don't . . ."

"Cas?" Dean's green eyes held that worry again, "Tell me, please."

". . . I don't want you to think I'm a freak, too."

Dean looked affronted. "I think I should be given the right to decide for myself what I think you are."

Castiel was hesitant, but he nodded his acquiescence nonetheless. Dean's logic made sense, after all. If it were Castiel in his shoes, he'd want to know whether or not he was dealing with a sociopath, wouldn't he? It was the least he could do after all Dean had done for him in extending such an offer of friendship and camaraderie.

"You probably won't believe this," Castiel began, "But I . . . I speak to angels."

Dean stared at him. "What?"

"Well, more accurately, _they _speak to _me._ In my head; they whisper, all the time. Even now, they whisper. The angels Gabriel and Michael, Uriel and Anael, all of them, I hear them in my head." He turned his head away, preparing himself for when Dean laughed in his face and scorned him. "No one outside of my family knows this, except for you now, but still everyone can see that I'm different; that I don't fit in no matter what I do, and that's why they call me a freak."

"I don't see that as freak-worthy." Dean said suddenly.

Castiel's head whipped around so fast he felt as if he almost dislocated it, "What?" Had he actually meant that? "Dean, I hear angel's voices _in my head_ –"

"Yeah, I got that." Dean said, "But, to tell you the truth, I always thought there was something missing when I looked at you; some piece of the puzzle I hadn't discovered yet, and now I know what it is. Now it's like you make more sense, or something."

"I . . . I don't understand."

"These angels that speak to you – if it were anyone else it would be freak-worthy, but not for you. It's just Castiel. It defines you."

Castiel's eyes widened and then subsequently filled with tears, "Dean . . ."

Dean looked as worried as Castiel was surprised, especially when he saw the tears in Castiel's eyes. "Whoa, whoa, come on, Cas. Don't go all teary-eyed on me now, I was trying to make you feel better!"

Castiel wiped at his eyes, "I'm sorry, I just . . . I've never had someone tell me anything like that before. Dean, I . . ." He choked back a sob, "My prayers have finally been answered."

"What?"

Castiel just shook his head and moved forward, making sure it was okay before embracing the taller man, "Thank you."

Dean seemed surprised for a moment, and then he smiled, relaxing and even returning the embrace, "Of course, Cas. Anything for a friend."

Castiel knew then that things would change, for the better.

And change they did.

Fast forward a few days later and Castiel was still having a bit of trouble believing that Dean actually accepted the fact that angels whispered to him, but he wasn't about to question it, even if it did feel too good to be true.

Dean was basically Castiel's best friend now – in his eyes, at least – and they spent a lot of time together; at work, at Castiel's apartment, sometimes at Dean's, and sometimes they'd even go out and get drinks. Most of the time they'd go alone, but sometimes they did invite others to go along like Jo, the blonde nurse who really seemed to like Castiel, and John, who was at least friendly toward him – if not just a bit wary – and this friend of John's named Adam.

Never again, though, did Dean invite Meg. Where he'd simply brushed off her advances before, now he just ignored her completely, and something about it made Castiel's throat tighten with emotion, because Dean was doing it for _him._

And his life was so much fuller now.

X X X

It was nighttime, and Castiel was alone, in his apartment, simply resting from a long day and watching one of his favorite shows. A cup of tea was balanced in one hand, the other flung over the back of the cough as he kicked his feet up on the footstool situated in front of his couch.

Castiel mused absently at how comfortable of a position it was.

The doorbell rang suddenly, pulling Castiel from his thoughts and startling him so that he nearly fell off the couch. Hurriedly he got up, muting the TV as he scrambled across the floor, a bit miffed, and answered the door to see Dean standing there.

"Dean?" Castiel paused, noticing how Dean's eyes were red and how his shoulders were slumped, and worry settled in the pit of his stomach. "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean swallowed hard. "Cas, can I . . . uh, can I come in?"

"Of course," Castiel gestured him inside, motioning for him to sit down on the couch and joining him once he did. "What is it?"

Dean took a few moments to gather himself, "Hey, remember how I told you that my mom died a few years ago?"

"Yeah . . ." Castiel remembered. Dean had told him a few days earlier. After they'd gone out for drinks and come back to Castiel's apartment severely wasted, Dean had told him that she'd died terribly, wasting away on a sickbed. And at first Castiel hadn't thought that Dean had remembered that, considering how drunk he'd been, but apparently he did remember.

Why was he bringing it up now, though? Where was this going?

"Well, I never told you what she died _of_." Dean said.

When he trailed off and didn't continue, Castiel put a hand on his shoulder as reassurance, urging him on silently, and finally, Dean seemed to gather the strength to say it and he closed his eyes, blurting the words out in a rush.

"Cas, she - she died of Huntington's Chorea."

Castiel's eyes widened. "But, Dean . . . Huntington's is a genetically transferred disease. If your mom had it then there's a fifty percent chance that –"

"- That I have it too, yeah, I know." Dean took a deep breath. "I had myself tested; the results should be back in a few days."

"Dean . . ." Castiel paused for a moment to make sure it was okay before wrapping his arms around his friend and holding him close as Dean simply relaxed into his presence, letting it soothe him.

Dean didn't know why, but just being near Castiel made him feel so at peace.

"Do you want to stay here for the night?" Castiel asked softly.

Dean nodded. "I-if it's alright with you."

"Of course, I don't want you to have to go back and stay at your apartment by yourself. What kind of friend would I be then?" Castiel got to his feet and smiled, "I'll go get you some blankets."

Dean nodded and smiled back, thankful to have someone like him, when something suddenly caught his eye.

It had just been for a moment, just a flicker in the corner when Castiel had turned away, but it had looked like . . . no, that was impossible, it was just his eyes playing tricks on him, because that couldn't possibly be real.

_Could it?_

Because, just for a second, it had looked like Castiel had wings.

X X X

The next few days were hard.

Both Dean and Castiel went to their jobs at the hospital during the day, acting like they always did and never letting on that anything was wrong, but in reality Dean was lost inside, and Castiel was so worried for his best friend that it was affecting his ability to work correctly. He'd only been there for two hours and already he'd nearly overdosed a poor woman on epinephrine and he'd given a young man with severe headaches enough morphine to knock an elephant out-cold, and the hospital's administrator said if he didn't straighten up soon he'd be given leave off until he could pull himself together.

So pull himself together Castiel did, because he was good at pretending, and because he had spent years perfecting it.

He and Dean spent a lot of time at each other's apartments now, mainly because Dean couldn't bear to be alone with the threat of Huntington's Chorea hanging over his head, and Castiel didn't want to let him out of his sight. So they compromised, saying that every other night they'd stay at Dean's apartment, and the rest of the time would be at Castiel's.

No one else knew of this arrangement though, just like no one else knew about the possibility of Dean having Huntington's.

Only two days had passed since Dean had told Castiel the truth, but to him it felt like two hundred years. They still had one more day left until the results of the test came back, and every waking moment seemed tense with concern and rife with fear.

Castiel could hardly stand it, but he did – for Dean.

It was at the end of the second day that Castiel exited the hospital, garbed in a light coat and scarf since the weather was getting colder, and saw a feather floating down from the sky. The feather was pure white and as light as air; so light it cushioned itself on the wind, floating down gently - ever so gently – and, without even thinking about it, Castiel reached up and caught it.

It was warm to the touch, and as he held it in his hands he heard something . . . the familiar whispering of the angels he catered to so often inside his head.

He held the feather up to his ear, as if hoping that would help raise the volume.

_Only two more . . . _

"Cas?"

Castiel jumped, nearly dropping the feather, and spun around to see Dean standing behind him. "Dean! Don't frighten me like that!"

"Sorry, Cas, I wasn't trying to." Dean had the grace to look a bit sheepish. "But, uh, what are you doing?"

"Pardon?"

"What are you doing with that feather?"

"Oh, you mean this?" Castiel held up said object, prepared to tell Dean that he was listening to the angel's whispers, because he'd told Dean about the angels before. He could tell him this too . . . right? But no, something was different. Something felt wrong. Castiel didn't know what it was, but he didn't like it. In all his years he'd learned to trust what his instincts told him; they'd saved him many times. And besides, Dean was already under enough stress.

He didn't need this too.

So, instead of the truth, Castiel said, "I . . . uh - I like birds."

"You like birds," Dean repeated.

"Yeah, I like birds. And I collect feathers. And I saw this one floating down, so I caught it."

"And . . . then you held it up to your ear?"

"I was holding it up so as to get a closer look at the beauty it contains," Castiel said with a poetic flair.

Dean nodded, "With your ear."

"No, with my eyes!" Castiel frowned at him. "Why would I hold it up to my ear?"

Dean shrugged, looking strangely uncomfortable, "It must've just been the angle."

"Yes, it must have. And anyway, why does it matter? Is it of incredible importance for you to know why I caught this particular feather, or something?"

"No, I was just wondering." Dean said, waving a hand flippantly as he walked off.

Castiel frowned.

He was right, something was off. And it wasn't just the angels and their whispers, which were becoming weirder by the day. Something was up with Dean. It wasn't just the Huntington's test that was bothering him, that much was obvious. No, there was a secret there – something _elusive_ that Dean had hidden from him purposefully, almost as if he was afraid.

But Castiel had no idea what it could be, and that revelation gnawed at him.


	3. The Fulfillment

The next day passed by rather uneventfully in the eyes of most people, with the world turning and the sun shining and everything as it should be. But for Dean and Castiel, the Saturday was anything but uneventful; because it was the day the results of Dean's test for Huntington's came back.

So when Dean showed up at Castiel's apartment later that night holding an envelope, Castiel merely stepped aside and let him in without a word.

They joined each other on the couch in the living room, both tense and unsure, and Castiel could see that Dean's hands were shaking as he went to open the envelope. Wanting to calm his friend, Castiel put a comforting hand on his shoulder. It seemed to help, thankfully, for Dean's hands stilled and he tore open the letter.

They both held their breath as they skimmed over the words, and it didn't take them long to find the answer to the question they'd been waiting for over the last few days. When they finally did find it, though, they both froze.

_NEGATIVE._

The words seemed to glare up at them from the paper, blinding them both, and for a moment neither said anything.

"It . . . it's negative." Dean gasped, "Cas, the test was negative. I'm clean!"

Dean whooped in delight and embraced Castiel, who was relieved beyond words, and they both couldn't help but laugh softly as all the stress and worry of the last few days drained out of them.

"Hey, Cas . . ." Dean murmured when they finally pulled away, his voice going soft.

Castiel blinked, "Yes?"

"Thank you . . . for helping me through this," Dean put a hand on Castiel's thigh and the older man blushed, a bit embarrassed by the intimate gesture, "I don't know what I would've done without you."

"O-of course," Castiel stammered, averting his eyes for fear of Dean seeing the heat creeping up his cheeks. _I'd do anything for you, Dean._ He thought, but he didn't say it out loud. No, he wasn't that bold.

"_Cas . . ._" Dean's voice had gone to a whisper now, and when Castiel looked back up at him he froze, his eyes widening as he saw how close the taller man was to him. Their noses were nearly touching, and Castiel could feel Dean's breath ghosting along his skin.

"D-Dean, wh-what are you -?"

_"Ssh,"_ Dean interrupted, "You trust me, don't you, Cas?"

"Of course I do -"

Castiel was cut off as Dean interrupted him again, but this time it was by different means. This time he'd leaned forward, closing the tiny distance between them in seconds so their lips touched and before Castiel could react they were kissing.

They were _kissing._

A gasp escaped from Castiel's throat, and Dean used that to his advantage, slipping his tongue into the elder's mouth and pushing him back onto the couch. Then Dean was hovering over him, and Castiel's brain had shorted out, and he didn't know what to do but lay there and let Dean kiss him.

And, though he was still unsure, Castiel couldn't deny that he liked it.

Dean pulled back after a few moments, licking his lips, and stared down at Castiel with dark eyes. "Cas . . ."

"Wh-what are we doing?" Castiel gasped.

"Something we should've done a long time ago." Dean replied, a hunger in his voice as he leaned back down and kissed him again, harder this time; passionate in his eagerness to explore every inch of Castiel's mouth. And Castiel complied easily, wrapping his arms around Dean's torso and pulling him closer, because even though he'd been too dense to realize it earlier, he understood now that he'd wanted this almost ever since he'd first met the younger man.

But in his head, as always, the angels whispered to him.

_Just one more day . . ._

X X X

When Castiel woke up that Sunday, groggy and a bit sore, he had a near panic attack as he rolled over in bed to find Dean there with him, naked save for the sheets around his lower half. After giving himself a few moments to calm down, though, Castiel remembered the events of the night previous and he blushed, suddenly realizing why he was so sore.

"Cas . . . are you up?" Dean grunted, his voice muffled by the pillow he'd buried his face in.

"Mm, yeah," Castiel shifted slightly as Dean rolled over to face him.

"Good morning." Dean said, his green eyes twinkling.

"G-good morning," Castiel replied, a bit embarrassed.

Dean's smile faltered slightly, "Hey, are you alright?" He moved a bit closer, "Are you . . . are you regretting it? I mean . . . what we did last night?"

"No!" Castiel shook his head emphatically, "No, no that's not it at all. Sorry, I'm just – I'm just a bit overwhelmed." He swallowed hard, cheeks burning again, "It's been a while."

Dean chuckled, looking relieved, "Oh, I see." He grinned and moved closer, pulling Castiel into his chest, "Are you sure that's it?"

Castiel nodded, "I'm sure, Dean." He murmured.

It wasn't a complete lie.

After all, he was sure about this. What he and Dean were doing, he was absolutely sure about it. He wanted it; he'd wanted it for a long time. So no, it wasn't a complete lie.

He just wasn't telling the whole truth.

Because honestly, he was scared; he had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it nagged at him, and suddenly the whispers of the angels in the back of his head seemed ominous and not at all as soothing as they normally were. And, if he listened hard enough, Castiel could pick out the words the angels were saying; and then he'd realize that it wasn't the normal nonsensical gibberish he was used to hearing them utter, no. It was the same phrase, repeated over and over and over again, until it all but blended into the background.

_Today is the day . . . Today is the day . . . Today is the day . . ._

And it scared him. Because what could it possibly mean?

He brushed it off, though, and hid his fear beneath layers of a steel façade. He was good at hiding, remember? So he kept it to himself as he got dressed and ready for the day, all the while hoping that Dean didn't see right through him like he always did. But thankfully, Dean didn't seem to notice.

They ate breakfast together, Dean chattering away about how they should go out drinking that night, and Castiel promised that they would only on one condition.

"What's that?" Dean wondered, his mouth full of cereal.

"Church," Castiel said, "I want you to come to church with me this morning."

Dean stared at him, "What?"

Castiel nodded, "All I want is for you try it at least once, Dean. Please?" He gave Dean his best puppy-dog-eyed look, and if he'd been begging any harder he would've been on his hands and knees.

And Dean gave in, albeit with a reluctant mutter of _'the things I do for love'_ underneath his breath, and Castiel grinned.

In fact, even with the ominous message the angels continued to repeat in the back of his head, Castiel kept that stupid grin plastered to his face the rest of that morning as they both got ready for church.

"Your tie is crooked," Castiel said when they finally got there, leaning over to adjust it for him.

Dean all but pouted, "Why am I doing this again?"

Feeling bold, Castiel kissed him on the cheek, "Because you love me."

Dean spluttered a bit and Castiel grinned, feeling victorious as they entered the church and took their places in the pews. The sermon wasn't long that morning, not as long as Castiel was used to, and afterwards Dean admitted that it hadn't been that bad, and maybe he'd even come back the next week, if Castiel was a good boy.

Castiel laughed at this.

"Oh, wait, I forgot!" He exclaimed suddenly.

Dean paused, "What?"

"I wanted to ask Father Christopher something," Castiel look back at the church, "I won't be long, okay? Just wait for me in the car."

"Alright," Dean agreed, "But make it quick! I'm hungry!"

Castiel nodded his acknowledgement, turning and hurrying back into the church. It was empty now since all the worshippers had left already to return to their homes, save for the priest who stood before the altar, eyes closed and hands folded in prayer.

"Father Christopher?" Castiel asked softly.

Christopher turned, smiling warmly at his old friend, "Hello, Castiel."

Castiel smiled back, "Hello, Father."

"I saw a new face sitting with you today." Christopher said as he rearranged some things on the altar, "Someone I should know about?"

"That's Dean Winchester," Castiel said, "He's a friend of mine I convinced to come today. He enjoyed your sermon."

"Good, good." Father Christopher nodded, "But that's not the real reason you came to see me, is it?"

Castiel shook his head, "No . . . Father, it's – it's something else. Something I've only told a few others before. And I need your counsel."

"I'm listening," Christopher said.

So Castiel swallowed hard and began, telling him everything; the angels that spoke to him, his dark childhood, and how now the angels were frightening him with their repeated phrase of _today is the day_ when before they'd always offered such comfort. And through it all Father Christopher merely listened, nodding in some places and urging him on occasionally, and when Castiel was finally done he flinched, afraid of the disapproval he'd see in the priest's eyes.

But instead of disapproval, there was acceptance.

"My child, you should've told me this long ago." Father Christopher said.

Castiel nodded, "I know . . . I was just afraid . . ."

"Afraid I'd treat you as others had?"

Castiel nodded again, feeling ashamed, and Christopher put a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Castiel, I would never. You are my friend, and my brother in Christ. You can tell me anything." Christopher said, "And about these angel whispers . . . how long have they been repeating this phrase?"

"It just started up today," Castiel said, "And it's strange, because it's like they've been counting down over the past week. They kept saying 'just five more days' or 'just three more days' or what not. And then today it's just 'today is the day' over and over again. It's driving me a little insane, to be frank."

Christopher nodded, "And are you sure there's no importance to today's date?"

Castiel paused, thinking over it a bit before he answered, "No, not that I can think of."

"I can't think of any reason why, either." Christopher smiled, "I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful, but in all honesty this probably has nothing to do with you, Castiel."

Castiel nodded, feeling a bit better, "You're probably right, Father."

Christopher smiled, "If it's still bothering you, pray about it. But for now, I have errands to attend to. Good day."

"Thank you, Father." Castiel called as Christopher walked off, leaving him standing alone by the altar.

After he'd left, though, Castiel's smile fell. For despite the tiny ounce of relief he'd felt earlier, he still couldn't get rid of the nagging sensation that something was off. He was missing something, something that was right in front of him, and he could feel it – he just didn't know what it was.

_Today is the day . . . today is the day . . . today is the day . . ._

Castiel turned back to the altar, staring at it a moment and wondering. Was he just getting himself worked up over nothing? Father Christopher had been right – it had nothing to do with him. He should just go back home with Dean and forget all about it, for it had nothing to do with him. Nothing at all, he was sure of it.

_It is time._

Castiel gasped.

There was a rushing noise, like wind through a door, and it was as if Castiel was the door, and the wind was coming home; filling him, rushing into him, being filled. There was no sound anymore, no purpose, nothing but light – light and salt and awareness, for he'd been blind, all this time. Perfectly, inexorably blind.

The wind settled. The door closed. It was as simple as that.

He was whole again.

X X X

Dean tapped on the steering wheel impatiently, humming Def Leppard's _Rock of Ages_ under his breath as he waited for Castiel to emerge from the church. He was starving, and he needed food, and damn it why was Cas taking so long?

Finally, unable to take it anymore, Dean got out of the car, twirling the keys through his fingers as he ascended the steps back into the church.

"Cas?" He called.

His voice echoed back at him, thrown around the room by the ceiling that soared high above. Light streamed in through the stained glass windows, each one depicting a different biblical scene that made twisting shadows and colored light dance across the walls. And, at the end of the aisle that led to the pulpit was Castiel, on his knees before the altar with his head bowed.

Dean paused, not wanting to disturb him if he was praying, but something felt off. Every instinct was screaming at him to go to Castiel, to make sure he was alright, and despite the fact that it was probably nothing, Dean listened.

He hurried down the aisle, a sense of manic urgency pushing him onward. But the moment his foot touched the first step leading up to the altar a bright light burst forth from Castiel, and Dean had to avert his eyes rather than be blinded. When the light had finally died down enough for him to see without blinking spots from his vision, he couldn't believe what he was looking at.

Castiel, only . . . he was different.

Light seemed to pour from him, and if Dean looked close enough he could see something flickering in and out of existence above his head . . . something golden. And behind him, outlined by the light he emanated, two great wings spread from his back, dwarfing Dean in their shadow.

He was _beautiful_, and yet terrifying at the same time.

"C-Cas?" Dean gasped, unsure. He didn't know what to do.

Castiel smiled then, his blue eyes dancing with light, and nodded, "I'm still me, Dean. In fact, I'm more me than I've ever been."

Dean stared, "I don't understand."

"Neither did I, until now." Castiel walked down the steps, joining Dean at the bottom, "Those angels that whispered to me, the rough childhood I'd gone through, even my name; it wasn't an accident, Dean." He reached out, but Dean reared back.

"Don't touch me," Dean breathed.

Castiel's blue eyes looked hurt, "Dean, I swear. It's still me."

"Dude, you have wings and . . . and I swear there's a halo over your head."

Castiel nodded, "I'm an angel, Dean. I am Castiel; the angel of Thursday." He reached out again, this time slowly, "I promise, it's me. I'm still Cas. I'm still here. And I passed the test."

"What test?"

"The reason I was sent here to Earth." Castiel smiled, "To convince my brothers that such a thing as love existed."

Dean blinked. "What?"

Castiel's smile faltered, "I know this is a lot to comprehend –"

"No, no . . . the angel thing, I got that." Dean said honestly, "But what do you mean you came here to convince your brothers that love existed?"

"I told you before that everything was for a reason; the angels whispering in my head, my hard childhood, even my name," Castiel murmured, "It was to show them that love precedes all. And you proved it, Dean. You proved me right."

Dean swallowed hard. "So, now what? You go back to Heaven or something and that's it? It's like I never knew you or something?"

"No, Dean." Castiel smiled, "I've made my choice." He closed his eyes and Dean watched in wonder as his halo flickered out of existence and his wings faded into shadow, only to disappear entirely moments later.

"What just happened?"

Castiel's eyes opened then, the light from before still making them shine, and his smile returned, soft and hesitant and soothing just like Dean remembered it. "I choose you, Dean. Humanity is a small price to pay for love."

Dean's mouth fell open. "You . . . you just gave up your feathers or whatever to stay here with me?"

Castiel nodded, "Love precedes all, Dean. Even eternity."

Dean stared a moment longer, but then slowly – ever so slowly – a warm smile spread over his face, lighting up his eyes, and he laughed; the sound loud and clear. Castiel soon joined in, and their laughter echoed through the church as they walked out the front doors hand-in-hand, the prospect of the rest of their lives before them.

Because love truly does precede all.


End file.
